


Angels to Some

by ajattra



Series: Cries of the Flesh [3]
Category: Hellraiser Series
Genre: Angst, Blood Play, Bondage, Demonic Sex, Drama, F/M, Romance, Smut, Spoilers, Submission, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-08
Updated: 2011-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajattra/pseuds/ajattra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porny fun with cenobytes... What Xipe Totec does with Kirsty Cotton, now that he finally has her. [Post H6:Hellseeker]</p><p>Prompts: pinhead/kirsty; pain, regret, labyrinth, catharsis</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels to Some

He has made her suffering legendary within the long narrow halls of the Labyrinth, just as he promised. Levianthan himself has shaken in appreciation of his favorite son’s craft and skill. She is the one that got away, the one that Xipe Totec has chased for many decades: The girl, who has solved the puzzle countless times, yet outwitted the cenobytes each time, except now.

Whispers have been spreading like wildfire with many curious eyes watching over, as he has shown her the new limits of her perception. Her endurance and willpower have amazed even some of the more horrifyingly disfigured among their cast. She is their entertainment: a piece of wood being carved into something beautiful – only Xipe Totec is carving her flesh, and braiding it, and piercing it, as hours stretch into eternity.

But what they all seem to forget is that this was her wish. She laid herself before him, finally bending before his will and accepting the fate she was given, when she first opened the Lament Configuration all those years ago. Any chance she had of living a fulfilling and mundane mortal life were gone when she first met Leviathan’s favorite son and become helplessly entangled with him.

He has known emotions unlike many of his kin. He has known loss when his lover Merkova fell in the hands of the Harrowers. He has known obsession since he first crossed paths with Kirsty Cotton. He has known compassion when he stood up for her against Chanard. He has known confusion and malice when he was divided and reborn in two shapes: Elliot Spencer and the true spirit of Xipe Totec. He has known jealousy when he witnessed her seeming happiness with her husband. He has known satisfaction when she finally took his hand and their cat and mouse game came to an end.

Yet he observes her pain calmly, enjoying every tear she spills, because he has dreamt so long of this day. His pale face betrays no emotion when he burns her, or causes dismemberment. By now, she’s suffering from sensory overload: she feels everything deeper and stronger than before. This is his gift to her; the strangling cloud of sensation will bring forth the real Kirsty.

When she has no voice to scream anymore and he finds that he has experienced her flesh in enough ways for now, Xipe Totec carefully rebuilds her back into her inferior human shape. He hangs her from his hooks and leaves her there for awhile to pursue more pressing matters. Others aren’t allowed to touch her; the honor is reserved only to him, for he was the one, who claimed her when she was still embodied by barely mature flesh and terrorized by her own flesh and blood.

The time is ripe for her pleasure. She has endured enough. But for once the demon’s heart is full of anxiety. Torture is in his nature, like a chaotic beast that demands to be unleashed. Pleasure on the hand is something he no longer recognizes. While he stands near her unconscious and naked form and observes her, he questions whether his demonic flesh is compatible with this soft and easily breakable creature. He has countless abilities that stretch the fabric of reality. He could even be anyone she desired in secret or out of in the open. Would this be kinder?

His form changes and in his stead stands boyfriend Steve, barely developed. His flesh is lean and maltreated. He smirks and raises his eyebrows, but discards this form, deeming it insufficient for his intentions.

Next he shrinks into the form of beautiful, blonde Tiffany. His feels his smooth skin with his hands and rakes through his hair. He can see why Kirsty would like this form, yet he feels uncomfortable in it; it’s like with any other mortal in his grasp, he only wishes to scar this sweet softness until it’s ruined.

He considers husband Trevor next, smiling to himself when he remembers the joy he felt torturing Trevor. Morphing again, he thinks of how this inadequate fool was able to charm Kirsty and brand her his. He was everything Kirsty had hated in her own uncle, yet she chose him because of blind passion. Even now Xipe Totec has Trevor in his own hell, suffering and never seeing daylight. His nightmares are the amusement of many.

Again he discards this form, deeming it unfit. And just like that he takes the form of Uncle Frank, this pathetic soul he has refused any pleasure for decades now. Oh, Frank is in good hands, with his former lover Julia thinking of new ways to punish her unfaithful companion. But would Kirsty like him like this? He examines his form, finding it in excellent shape. Frank was very promising at first, a man numbed by the world, eager to feel anything. But he did not appreciate the Labyrinth or Leviathan’s gift.

Again Xipe Totec abandons his physical form, and then finally returns to his own. His body has ached for flesh this strongly only for three times: for Leviathan himself, for sweet and poisonous Merkova and now for Kirsty Cotton, who holds untold promise. Whether her desire is for him or the Labyrinth in general, he will confront her in his own skin.

-

When she finally opens her tired eyes with great labor, she realizes the torture has been brought a halt. She has taken more than she could ever think to withstand and then some more. In more ways than one, she’s justified this by believing she deserves every cut, burn, choke and hit. Realizing she’s suspended in the air by hooks that pierce her skin, she gasps but the cry dies on her lips. What use is crying in Hell?

Kirsty bites her teeth together and slowly pulls one hand free of the sharp hook, then another: the one in her calf and one in her back. She falls to the ground with a thump and dust flies off the stone floor because of the impact. Hell is neither hot nor cold, but her insides are still burning with sensory overload. Every noise, sound, touch, even thought, feels like it’s too much. Yet she lifts herself to a sitting position and starts pulling the rest of the hooks from her skin one by one. She frees herself from her chains, knowing all too well that she wouldn’t be doing this, unless her hosts wanted her to.

Finally free from her chains, she sits for a moment, leaning over her legs with teary eyes. She doesn’t feel human anymore: not since the torture began. The creature from her dreams has finally caught up with her, and her own fascination of his world has brought her here, not as a visitor and a child, but a victim of the configuration.

Kirsty rises, straightening to her full height. Her body is perfection: there are no signs of torture - not even the wounds inflicted by the hooks remain. She is bare, but she knows she doesn’t need to behave according to rules of the human world here. The cenobytes are gods themselves in this realm, and no piece of clothing would prevent any of them from touching her, if it was their desire.

The floor is bloodied and there is a collection of weapons and devices hanging on the wall. She shivers unwittingly when she passes them by, but continues onwards, feeling an unexplainable pull. She walks outside, finding an opening at the end of the room. And she’s suddenly walking under open air, looking over the buildings and corridors beneath her, and seeing Leviathan at the centre of the Labyrinth. The Labyrinth circles it, like a planetoid circling the sun. She can hear Leviathan’s hollow call; it sounds like the fog horn she would listen to when she was still a child.

Kirsty moves past the ledge, following the wall of the narrow path she’s on. She can see no trace of life in the Labyrinth: No demons, no tortured souls. Perhaps she’s so deep inside that mortals rarely see these levels?

Leviathan shines in the night, like a beacon. Kirsty chooses a different path at the crossroads, feeling that it’ll lead her to the heart of the Labyrinth. She walks barefoot and the path is smooth under her feet. There is not a single trace of grain or sand.

Then a beam of light, deriving from Leviathan falls on her and she falls on her knees, stricken by his gaze. She can see her heart lain before her; how these being have corrupted her innocence and turned her into a wicked creature. Her father, Uncle Frank, Trevor, the box, they’re all weaved into a singular clear vision. The light passes her by, allowing her to continue, deeming her worthy.

The insinuation doesn’t sit well with her, but she doesn’t deny it. There is a thirst inside her, once ignited in her fragile and traumatized mind by a small flame. She’s killed because of it, covered her tracks and lived with the guilt. Kirsty never wanted to become what her uncle and step-mother became, but that same burning was in her all along. She had evaded the madness, flirted with it and ended up dancing to the tune of same insane tango for years.

But as darkness falls on her again, she pulls herself back up and continues walking towards the black diamond, the centre of hell. Sweat has made her body moist and she realizes she’s shaking in anticipation. What is she waiting for? Perhaps just to see the demon’s face again?

 _I will not rest until I get what I want. And what I want is you._

The narrow road is approaching its end: a circular platform and suspended upon it, the black diamond. Kirsty drags herself onwards, sweat gathering between her breasts and her hair. Her dark eyes observe her surroundings. Being this near Leviathan feels like overwhelming gravity and the pull is strong. Her feet feel heavy and each step becomes increasingly harder to take.

And then amidst the brightness at the base of Leviathan, she starts making out shapes: A man or a monster, waiting for her. The brightness hurts her eyes, but the closer she gets the more her eyes adjust. She transcends her senses and pushes onwards.

He is there, standing by a smooth black megalith that erupts from the ground. Clad in black leather that contrasts his pale skin, he simply waits. Some part of her mind wants to fight, to hurt him like he has hurt her, but she recognizes this as folly. As far as she knows, nothing can harm these creatures, and the time for deals is over. Perhaps it was folly to believe she could ever escape in the first place. He merely took his time to collect what was his.

The cenobite extends his hand to her and she takes it. It feels cool beneath her heated skin. She doesn’t need to blink in order to escape the brightness of Leviathan’s light anymore, and she can see the demon before her so clearly.

“Kirsty,” he calls to her softly, speaking her name like it was the name of a lover.

This is the creature that displayed her torture in front of cheering crowds of his kind, who turned her husband against her, and was the cause of her father’s death by the hands of her stepmother and uncle. By all accounts she should hate him with passion, yet her tired heart has no such emotions towards him. All that remains is that strange feeling she has felt since their first meeting: a suffocating emotion, she’d mistaken for fear. Well it isn’t fear – it’s painful and breathtaking arousal.

Her arousal is visible to his eye; how her skin becomes tight and her nostrils inhale air sharper, like she’s drowning. She’s wet at the sight of him, but she doesn’t yet have a voice for her desires. If she speaks them aloud, it’s the same as admitting failure. She will fight him with her last breath, torn asunder by the conflict of her mind and her flesh.

Leviathan’s favorite son has brought his pupil before his master, and the light of Levianthan slowly dims in sweet acceptance. Xipe Totec, the flayed god, looks at this mortal woman again, appreciating her form and tasting his victory. He begins to undress; his hands work the piercings on his chest, untangling them from his uniform. He removes his gloves and collar, as she watches, almost entranced. His tool belt is released and falls to the stone ground with a metallic sound.

Another piece of his uniform is released, revealing beneath it hairless, pale skin. Her eyes are eating his body down from his collarbone, to the dark, pierced nipples on his chest and the two similar piercings beneath each nipple. His skin is far from flawless: it carries burn marks, scars and there even seems to be a dim tattoo on his back, yet she can’t imagine him looking any different. She can tell now that the pins on his head have been hammered to the bone.

Once his upper body is free, he begins to work on the leathery dress that covers his feet and more intimate body parts. Her nipples have hardened and she’s moist with desire, frozen still by the sight of him. She’s yearning for his touch, biting her lip, until it’s swollen from the pain. The throbbing between her legs is starting to feel painful.

When he removes the leathery dress and reveals himself to her in his full glory, she nearly makes a noise, only to swallow it. He is clean shaven everywhere and the tip of his shaft is also pierced with a dark metal barbell. Her eyes wander across, devouring skin and scar alike, and then returning to his black eyes. She’s drunk from lust.

He pulls her close by landing his hand on the small of her back and yanking. She closes the space between them with a jerk, her breasts meeting with the cold piercings on his chest. He pushes his leg just a little bit forward and it slides between her legs, feeling so cool against her hot and swollen cleft. His hand is firm in its place; it imprisons her in his arms. She looks up at his face, those deep eyes that once withheld so much sorrow, and remembers all that he’s done for her. Kirsty surrenders when the demon brings his free hand on her cheek and uses it to guide her face to his, as he kisses her.

A maelstrom of feelings is unleashed with that kiss. He tastes like death: a thick, mellow, bloody taste in her mouth. When his tongue snakes out from his mouth, she quickly realizes it’s pierced as well, but this jewel is sharp and it cuts her. She can taste her own blood, and then feel as he becomes aroused. The pins on face press against her skin when he kisses her deeper, devouring her soft lips with his own. Kirsty shivers in his arms. Leviathan howls in approval of their union.

He finally allows her to breathe by parting their lips. Those black eyes remain unreadable and almost alien, but as his mouth curves into a possessive smile, Kirsty recognizes the satisfaction. In a sudden rush of anger and defiance she lifts her hand to his neck and the back of his head, where his skull is open. Her nails strike his weak spot, drawing blood and a painful gruff. He responds by restraining her hands and locking them in his grip between them. He stares at her intensively, that smug smile only deepening.

He brings her bound hands to his face and licks the blood from her fingers. It feels heavenly and she can’t keep her body from responding. Then he brings her cleaned hands down and yanks her towards the megalith from them, throwing her against the smooth surface. The hit is nothing but a minor discomfort in her lower back, and her body tenses quickly in anticipation of the cenobite walking towards her. He takes her body from her waist and lifts her to sit on the surface, pushing himself between her thighs.

Her alluring scent fills his nostrils much easier in this position. Kirsty wants to fight this, wants to fight him, almost like any good student wishing to surpass their master. She doesn’t know it yet, doesn’t realize what an honor he’s bestowed upon her. She’ll realize soon enough…

His cock is teasing at her entrance and that sweet spot feels so good against him. He wants to plunge into her, begin a dance of madness where pleasure and pain become entwined. But instead he moves a finger between her legs, slowly pushing it further and further into her depths. She inhales, tightening the muscles in her abdomen, when he pushes in another digit. His hand is on her shoulder and she grabs it for support as he moves his fingers back and forth.

Kirsty moves her hips to meet his slow and torturous rhythm, so that she pushes against his fingers. He can see she likes this, even if there’s an evil gleam in her eyes. She’s still not surrendering completely. He grabs a bundle of hair from the back of her neck, pulling her head back. He’s overcome by the desire to both rake her hair and keep on pulling. The willful stare remains however.

“This is not about anything else,” she says, while he pleasures her.

“So it’s all just pleasure with no strings attached?” he asks in return, amused by her denial.

With the men of her life having been too impotent to protect her, she had turned to seek help from demons. He had come to her aide countless times, freeing her of an uncle’s unwanted incestuous touch, a stepmother’s jealous violence, the hell the creatures of the Labyrinth would’ve eagerly given her as well as the death planned by her own husband.

She can give in to weakness if it’s carnal, but she won’t be betrayed again.

He flinches in surprise when she leans closer to him and removes his hand from her. She licks his fingers clean, just as he did earlier. The gesture is almost affectionate, and feels exquisite. She brings her mouth to his nipple, suckling it and the ring in her mouth. Her hand runs down his front, feeling the healthy and scarred skin, until it stops over his eager length. She begins to stroke him, remembering how Trevor would do anything for this.

And just like that, his hand flies to her throat, and he squeezes, choking the air from her lungs. Anger lights in his bottomless eyes and a deep growl escapes his throat. “Never think of him again!” he hisses at her in a fit of jealousy. She can see how her happiness had been too much for the demon; Why he’d begun whispering in Trevor’s ear and baited him.

Yet the grip feels good; the lack of oxygen only heightens her emotions and she moves her hand on his rigid arm that holds her still, caressing its length, as if asking for permission. The demon releases her and she exhales in relief, a tear glimmering in her dark eye corner. He’d once told her that tears were a waste of good suffering, so when he leans in to lick the tear away almost gently, she is very surprised.

Her face shifts and she attacks him again, sinking her teeth into his neck, biting down as hard as she can. The frustration inside, the need to prick his skin is overwhelming. She wants to hurt him. But he merely laughs at her enthusiasm, finding her supple body ripe for the taking.

He pushes his hand between them, cupping her breast and pushing her off. Then his hands travel down her sweaty back and slide beneath her ass. He lifts her ever so slightly before he slides inside her. The first stroke feels like heaven and hell combined. She can feel the ring move along with him, caressing places that no man – or woman – has reached before. She writhes in his arms; her skin wants to crawl off her bones and fall to the floor.

The dance begins finally and she thrusts herself against him willingly, bewildered by the ecstasy he brings her. She doesn’t want to sleep ever again, if staying awake means this will continue on forever. It’s a deathless spell, something worth dying for. She forgets to breathe between thrusts. Finally she can see why anyone would call them angels.

He ravages her mouth again, and after a deep guttural laugh fills her when he plays with her breasts. He bites her and sucks her skin in turns, and she’s never felt anything like this before.

With experienced hands, he flips her over and enters her from behind, keeping her bent over the monolith with sheer strength. He seems to have patience, when she has none and is begging for release. The cold monolith hardens her nipples and gathers her breath on its surface with each scream of ecstasy. Yet in the midst of her pleasure she realizes his tool belt is lying right next to her, and she reaches for something.

He feels a sudden flash of pain on his side, his grip faltering and she breaks free from the position, a deadly whip in hand. There are bleeding claw marks on her shoulders, as he held her still with brute strength. He finds this defiance amusing and approaches. She’s quick though, and the whip is around his neck before he reaches her. Kirsty closes the space between, both hands holding onto an end of the whip, tightening her grip. She forces him on his knees, sitting on the monolith and exposing her heated center for his lips.

The demon plays along, knowing full well how he can take that control away from her at any time. But he has tortured her and humiliated her, and done everything in his power to push her on this path to Levianthan’s favor, so he understands her desire to punish him for it - Not that he can consider this to be punishment. He drinks from her depth, a true toast to his victory. She’s swollen from his attention, delicious and sweet on his lips. He doesn’t draw out his tongue, knowing it would cut her and stain them both in her blood. It doesn’t take her long to beg him for it though.

She’s beckoning him to bring her release, but he denies her, yanking the whip from her weak hands. He rises from his knees, removing his attention from her and leaning over her. His sinks his fingers into her hair, framing her face with his hands. And he just stares at her.

“Your strings are mine, Kirsty,” he tells her.

“No,” she tries to deny, but cannot escape him.

“ **Yes**. Your soul has been mine for decades.”

There’s a possessive gleam in his eyes. Pure evil resides there, but also a strange kind of kindred spirit. He releases her face, leaving one hand on her shoulder to keep her still. The remaining hand pushes into a fist and his lifts his index finger upward, slowly bringing it to the point where her collar bones meet. Once the finger touches her skin, he begins to pull it downwards. The pain becomes intense immediately, as his finger cuts her skin like butter. Blood rushes out from the wound, and he continues to pull his finger downwards to the lovely valley between her breasts, until he’s just a bit past them. Then he leans closer and licks away the blood he spilt.

Her hands fly to the sides of his head when its moves over her, licking the valley between her breasts. It feels amazing: that mixture of pain and pleasure. The sheer amount of attention he’s giving her, though she can feel his throbbing member pressing hard against her legs again, is strange. He yanks her head backwards from her hair and kisses her chest with his best ability, while the pins graze her tender skin.

Finally she understands. He is the teacher, using his time carefully as he shows her what it is to appreciate the both ends of the spectrum. In the Labyrinth they exist closer to one another than anywhere else. They’re just next to each other, and switching between one and the other is merely intoxicating. The scent of her arousal teases his senses again, like the memory of the humanity he has fought to burry. It irritates him, but he loves it all the same.

He lifts her enough to push her fully recumbent on the monolith and then climbs in front of her. Kneeling, he pulls her close and spreads her legs. Kirsty lifts her upper body upright before pushing him inside her again. They have eye contact now and his pale hands hold on her thighs pulling them back and forth, thrusting with each pull. He settles for a steady rhythm, one that’s driving her to madness.

The ring scrapes her insides, even though its touch was much kinder before. She doesn’t mind; the pain is bringing her to new dimensions, opening the Labyrinth to her consciousness. And she realizes their god is watching curiously as his favorite son brings her to new heights. Is it aroused, should she feel shame for standing in his presence? All thoughts feel heavy to her, her mind is having trouble concentrating on anything but her lover.

She should be ashamed of these dark passions. She’s not her Daddy’s little girl anymore or a teen running from herself. Yet this is what she was made for.

Hatred dissolves. Regret dissolves. Pain dissolves. Pleasure dissolves. Everything becomes just a piece of the puzzle and she realizes how much she never knew. It’s the whole picture that she wants to see and experience. She wants to carve and maul and to be carved and mauled. She’s ready to become Leviathan’s daughter as well.

As she reaches her climax, she falls down back into numbness quickly, filled with nothing but the desire to go back. Was she touched by god, because nothing seems like anything in comparison anymore? All that’s left is the thirst.

Xipe Totec smiles at her, feeling the awakening of her thirst for experience, for flesh. “We have an eternity to fulfill your desire for flesh,” he tells her.

-fin


End file.
